


A Long Overdue Apology

by highestkingbambi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bisexual bonding, Canon Divergent, Feelings Realization, Minor Angst, Multi, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 02:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi/pseuds/highestkingbambi
Summary: During their rescue Margo receives a long overdue apology from Quentin and admits a harsh reality about her relationship with Eliot.





	A Long Overdue Apology

**Author's Note:**

> I started this prior to the airing of Season 3 Episode 9 when we didn’t know how Margo and Eliot would get out of the mess they were in. Their true saviour was so much better than anything I could have imagined.

“I owe you an apology.”

Margo turned in her seat, her eye, red with exhaustion laid upon Quentin. He was staring ahead at the horses that dragged them along, his face pulled into a frown of intense concentration as he flicked the reins. Lucky for them, the coup that had left her and Eliot as prisoners of sentient animals meant that the royal carriage was now lead by standard horses who actually followed their orders. 

It had been a daring escape, and she was still reeling from the sight of Quentin, covered in mud, throwing an unconscious Eliot over his shoulder and leading them to their escape vehicle. She couldn’t believe those spindly arms were capable of such an act, but then, they had all done things no one would have expected since arriving in Fillory. 

“Q, you just single handedly stormed a castle and rescued us, you’re a fucking hero,” Margo tried to place a kiss on his cheek, but was prevented by the bucking of a horse. She squeezed his thigh instead. 

Quentin kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. His control over the horses was shaky at best, and they still had quite a distance to travel before they were safe. 

“Margo, I do,” he said finally, leading the horses around a bend and into the woods. He would have to pay even more attention, but it had been inconsiderate of him to leave his earlier words just hanging in the air. 

“I was an asshole to you,” he explained. “It feels like such a long time ago, but I never said I was sorry for doing that. For being like that,” he continued, taking his eyes off the road to glance at his friend. “I should’ve said it sooner, but I got so caught up in everything else and then I found out you were kidnapped and on trial and, I thought I might never get a chance.”

“You know you haven’t actually apologised yet,” Margo teased, still unsure what Quentin was apologising for. “Besides, if there is anything you should regret never doing, it’s passed out in the carriage.”

Quentin tried to hide the light pink blush creeping over his cheeks and returned his focus to the escape. He had a small cottage in mind to hold up until they could work out their next move, and once they reached the other side of the woods it wouldn’t be too far away. 

***

Eliot was stirring in the carriage. He had already been knocked out when Quentin had first rescued him, the result of an overzealous attempt to seduce his way out of the dungeon.

The former High King of Fillory could feel a bruise coming up over his left eye and tried to count back the years since he’d last spotted such a shiner. It was difficult to decide if it was better or worse to be head butted by a guard or punched by his dad. Either way it didn’t matter, Fillory was determined to be just as terrible for him as Earth and he may as well sport the physical scars to match the mental ones. 

It took him a few moments to realise that he was no longer chained to the wall of his own castle. Someone had lain him on the floor of the royal carriage that he had once loved, until it became the site of his fall from power. Panicked, he searched for Margo, his lifeline in a world that no longer held the magic that had once saved him from self loathing an addiction. Somehow he knew that he was no longer being held captive, but it would all mean nothing if his Bambi wasn’t safe. 

He pulled himself together and crawled up onto one of the seats. In his attempts to be discreet he’d ensured the royal carriage had no window to connect him to whoever was driving him. With a splitting headache forming, he slumped into the cushions, and resigned himself to whatever fate had in store. If only there had been a bottle or five left over in the folds of ornate silk blankets that covered the seats. He would never be lucky enough for that small mercy. 

***

Margo had accepted that the unwarranted apology she was receiving from Quentin had been dropped, and focused instead on checking that they weren’t being followed. So far they hadn’t heard anyone take chase. What had first seemed like a ludicrous time to carry out an escape was actually working. The sun was high above them, peaking through the canopy of the woods to illuminate the way.

“Just so we’re clear,” Margo said, grabbing hold of Quentin’s shoulder to drive the point. “There is no chance I am giving my crown to these furry twats without a fight.”

“What?” Quentin almost lost the reins, the force of Margo’s words has been felt through his skin as she squeezed. 

“This is my Queendom, I’m not letting it go.” Her voice softened as she spoke, leading Quentin to remember a conversation long ago. He’d always assumed he was the biggest Fillory nerd, at least in the tri-state area. Most likely he still was, but Margo came a pretty close second. Just like him, she had loved the world before they had even arrived and began inhaling the opium laced air. It hadn’t just been a story enjoyed as a kid, and then a horrifying truth, but a place inside both of their hearts, returned to when life became overwhelming. 

Perhaps more then anyone else Quentin understood how Margo felt. They weren’t like Eliot, who needed Fillory, and whose very blood had destined him for High King. Margo and Quentin didn’t need Fillory, they wanted it. With every fibre of their beings, they wanted it to be real, they wanted to be a part of it, they wanted to save it. 

“This is my home now,” Margo buried her head into Quentin’s shirt, her voice muffled. 

“I know it is,” he replied. He could feel the slight moisture of tears and wished he could gather her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. 

Out of nowhere a screech reverberated through the trees, it’s source could hardly have been a few hundred yards from them. Quentin flicked the reins to speed up the horses, but they had already been galloping at a speed too fast for such a heavy laden carriage. 

With the tears wiped clear from her eye, Margo stood in her seat and searched for the source of the blood curdling sound. Circling high at the outskirts of the woods, two eagles were clearly scouting for them and if they continued their escape it wouldn’t be long before the rising dust and crashing hooves had them discovered. 

“Quentin, we gotta abandon the cart,” she ordered, the plan quickly formulating in her mind. “First we send one horse back to towards the castle, with a broken part of the carriage. Then we slap Eliot awake and lead the other three horses through this fucking nightmare until we get to the other side, wait for night and ride our pretty little asses off to safety. Capisce?” 

Her rescuer couldn’t comprehend fast enough, his mind so heavily focused on escape that option of changing plans was more than he could handle. Frustrated by his lack of action, Margo stole the reins and pulled them tight. The horses strained against the leather and groaned in discomfort. Slowly they came to a light cantor. They were close to stopping, but Margo hadn’t released her grip, knuckles white, she held the reins to her chest, while Quentin tried to snatch them away. The horses bucked and veered off the road. 

“Eliot! Hold on!” Quentin cried out, hoping that their passenger had woken. A wheel had been caught in an exposed root and there was no way to stop them from crashing. 

He jumped clear, landing hard on his knees. His eyes darted to look for his friends. Margo had been pulled forward by the reins, her body draped on a black horse, but she was kicking and screaming profanities, and he figured she must have been okay. He tried to get up, his knees were throbbing from the impact. Thankfully they weren’t broken, but they were strained and locked in place, soon be sporting bruises.

Quentin pushed through the pain, dragging himself from where he had landed to the splintered remains of the carriage. He couldn’t see Eliot, but thought he could hear a muffled groan. It sounded just like any other time someone had roused him. Quentin crossed his fingers and hoped he wasn’t being naive in thinking they all might just be okay. 

“Eliot!”

“Is he okay?” Margo called as she disentangled herself from the horses. 

“I don’t know,” Quentin whimpered in fear. 

Together they ripped through the wreckage of the carriage, desperate to find their missing companion. The task seemed endless, wood and ornate cloth strewn across the road, but still no sign of Eliot.

“Q? Bambi?”

The voice came from the trees, slow and pained. Margo squealed with delight. She pawed at Quentin, forcing his attention the the sight of Eliot pulling himself up from the ground using a sapling as a crutch. Even broken and battered he was the most regal being Quentin had encountered. He’d hardly had a chance to look at him during the initial rescue. Adrenaline had been pumped hard through his veins, alongside the leftover remnants of the stolen fairy dust that had allowed him to travel through the clock to Fillory and given him a physical strength far greater than he would ever naturally possess. He mind was now clear, and though he knew they couldn’t afford to stay where they were, Quentin couldn’t help but marvel at him.

“One of you had better say something before I start to worry about brain damage,” Eliot quipped, his voice weak. Margo was the first to run to him, the only one of them seemingly unscathed. 

“El, baby, thank god you’re okay.” She pulled him into a hug, crying when he winced from the action. With her head crown free, she made the perfect rest for Eliot’s chin. He threw a soft smile towards Quentin, who had found his feet and was making strides to separate the horses. It was enough for them to understand that their attention to getting away was more important than a reunion.

One had already taken off, too fast for them to have any chance of catching up. All they could do what hope that it was cause the necessary distraction for them to find their way to safety. To Quentin’s dismay, one of the remaining horses had been injured in the crash, and would never make to this cottage he planned to hole up in. 

Two would have to do. 

***

Night had fallen, and somehow they hadn’t been located. They’d found a covered grove away from the main road through the woods and waited out the afternoon. The eagles searched in vain above them, their hearts pounding each time the shadows fell or screeches rang out. 

No one felt safe enough to leave, but they knew they couldn’t stay where they were. Eliot needed more care than they were capable of giving him in the woods and it wouldn’t be long before nocturnal hunters were sent after them. 

Together, Quentin and Margo were able to set Eliot up on the back of a white horse. Suffering a concussion, he swayed awkwardly above them, his hands unable to hold tight. 

Using Quentin for a boost, Margo gracefully climbed aboard the other horse, a brown mare who glistened in the moonlight. 

“Q, isn’t she the most beautiful Bambi to ever Bambi?” Eliot slurred, to him she looked every bit deserving of her moniker, somehow both delicate and terrifying all in one. 

“Uh, of course she is,” Quentin agreed absentmindedly. He was too busy worrying about Eliot to admire anything else. There would be no way to live with himself if his attempt at a rescue made everything worse. Which, when he thought about it, was what always happened. It would have been easy for his to slip inside his own mind and dwell on all the mistakes he had made that had lead to this precarious situation. 

“Well, are you going to be his knight who forgot to wear his shining armour, or what?” Margo teased, drawing Quentin from his thoughts. 

“Oh, uh. Yeah,” he murmured. 

Quentin dug deep into his repressed memories of being forced to attend cowboy camp as a child. He hated camp. Swallowing hard, he gently pressed his hand against Eliot’s lower back to nudge him forward. With no one to lift him up, and no stirrups to use for leverage, Quentin struggled to clamber up behind Eliot, eliciting a high pitched laugh from the dazed man. Eventually he was successful, if out of breath, and alongside Margo they set off from the woods under the cover of darkness. 

With Eliot in front of him, Quentin struggled to see where they were going. The taller man had snuggled into his arms, his head leant against his cheek. With every crash of hooves on the ground, Eliot’s dark, unwashed curls flicked across his face. It occurred to Quentin that he had never seen Eliot so dirty, not even in his memories of a time that had been erased. It was those memories that had lead him to the cottage, and despite his obscured vision, he found that he was able to lead the horse in the right direction. 

“We’re going home, aren’t we Q?” Eliot whispered, his lids were heavy, and it was getting harder and harder for him to stay awake. There was a good chance he’d suffered two concussions in a very short period of time, and his mind hadn’t exactly been well looked after prior to that. 

“Eventually El,” Quentin answered back. “But first I need to look after you for once.”

***

The cottage had been abandoned for decades, covered in cobwebs and more dust than an old west history park. It was far too quaint for Margo’s tastes. A wooden bed lie in the corner, messily made with crumpled blankets, and flattened pillows. Across from the bed, a cast iron stove, a pot still perched over where the fire would have once been. A shiver ran through her spine, someone had definitely died here. 

“It was all real,” Eliot gasped. His arm was draped over Quentin who had supported him into the cottage behind Margo. “It, happened.”

Quentin felt the tears well up and found his strength crumbling under the weight of Eliot and the memories they were clearly both reliving. Prior to arriving, he’d thought about the cottage as a logical location for them to find safety. Remote enough to keep them away from the familiar faces of the palace, yet not to far for them to plan their return. If returning was even a possibility. He’d never physically been there. 

How could it all be real?

Everything was exactly how he had left it in his memories from the life they had built during their quest for the fourth key. Eliot had died. Jane took the key and Rupert had been tasked with passing the letter down through the family until the day it needed to be delivered to Margo. There had been nothing left for him to do there. 

“Ru-“ he began, his damaged knees giving way and leaving him crashing to the floor, the real, living Eliot following him down. The collapsed into a messy embrace of joy and loss. 

“What the fuck is going oh,” Margo interrupted, only to go silent. Propped up in a frame beside the bed was a sketch of two men and a boy who looked about ten. Grabbing the picture, she brought it to her collapsed companions, her one eye darting between the image and the two men. Time and again she tried to articulate the confusion she felt at the unmistakable resemblance. Quentin and Eliot with a kid who looked exactly like the former, but as sharply dressed as the latter. A goddamn family portrait. 

“This is some 12 Monkeys level fucked up time travel shit.” She finally sighed. There was no use thinking too deeply on it. Their lives made so little sense, it was better to just put her feet up and accept it. 

“Okay, so you clearly went domestic - without me, so rude - and you’re remembering it all, but is that really the best thing, El? I mean you have a black eye and you were thrown from a carriage, baby, you need to rest that brain.” 

“Yes, she’s right,” Quentin said, wiping the tears from his eyes. 

Margo and Quentin forced him to stay seated on the floor while they did what they could to make the bed comfortable for him. Together, they helped him up, removing his outer layers of clothing to leave him in white long johns and a henley. They argued across Eliot for the best course of action, but Margo was adamant that since he had been capable of mostly coherent sentences and prolonged eye contact, sleep was the best way to heal without magic. 

Filled with concern for the High King, Quentin sat down on the bed first, his back upright against the bed head, before Eliot laid down between his legs. He dropped his head to Quentin’s thigh draping his greasy curls awkwardly the other man’s lap. Next to them, Margo perched daintily on the doublet they had taken off Eliot. Even in her unwashed state she still couldn’t bring herself to sit directly on the threadbare quilt. Her fingers ran across Eliot’s forehead, while Quentin stroked his hair, the two of them determined to send him to sleep.

“We’ll make our way to Chatwins Torrent as soon as we’re able,” Quentin whispered, reassuring himself as much as the others. 

Margo whimpered at the mention of the healing waters, and he was reminded of a conversation long ago in a situation very similar.

“I’m sorry Margo,” Quentin began. “I’m sorry I blamed you, I blamed both of you, but I was such a dick to you and you didn’t deserve it. I blamed you for Alice breaking up with me, I guess I figured sleeping with you was worse because it’s not like anyone knew I also-”

“Oh, honey, _we knew_ ,” Margo couldn’t help but interrupt, a smirk forming despite the tears in her eye.

Eliot stirred in his lap, a brief snort before settling into sleep. 

“See, El doesn’t even have to be awake to laugh at your cluelessness,” she giggled.

“Hey, I’m trying to apologise here,” he grinned. Still running his fingers through Eliot’s hair, he slipped his free arm around Margo’s shoulders and felt her body relax into him. “I just, I want you to know that I didn’t regret it, you know? Which, when I think about it, is probably why I acted like I did, you know?”

“A confused bisexual bitch?”

“Hey!” he cried out.

“Shh, don’t wake our baby,” she said, pointing to their sleeping companion. Tucking her hair behind her eyes, Margo leant down to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. She looked back to Quentin and sighed. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Quentin nodded, and let her lean back into his embrace.

“I don’t know who I am without Eliot,” she admitted. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not really a whole person, just a fucking plot device in his story, with great hair and an even better ass.” Margo tried to laugh, but found herself sniffling instead. 

“Margo,” Quentin said softly.

“I love him,” she cut him off. “And not in the way he loves me. I’m in love with him - just like he is with you.”

“I...” Quentin didn’t know what to say, he’d never seen Margo so vulnerable, he hadn’t known was capable of it. Of all of them, she was the strongest emotionally, the only one who didn’t need consoling. It occurred to him that was what he needed to tell her, but he didn’t know how to say it. Instead, Quentin moved his hand to dip her head towards his own, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“We’ll make it through this, I promise,” he said. “And you, you’re not an extension of Eliot. You’re Margo the Destroyer. You ruled over Fillory while the rest of us stood around with our dicks in our hands and if I hadn’t fucked everything up by killing Ember, well, I don’t know exactly what would have happened, but I know it would have been incredible.”

His words elicited a giggle from Margo, which woke their sleeping charge. 

“You two aren’t going to fuck again?” Eliot asked sleepily.

“Not without you, babe,” they said in unison. 

“Now go back to sleep. We need you better so we can take our motherfucking thrones back.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly a writing exercise to get myself in their mindsets to complete my smut fic.


End file.
